


Crush

by thekita



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7652617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekita/pseuds/thekita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda for The Winds of Winter. Originally written for a Wish Fulfillment Ficathon. Prompt -"My Queen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush

"You fuck like a man,” Dany says. She reclines against the cool of so many silk pillows, strands of her hair still tangled around Yara’s fingers.

The carved wooden and leather toy lies glistening, discarded now at the foot of the bed.

Yara smiles. There are places Dany has never seen in that smile; there are lands filled with hard, gray rocks, and grayer waters that refuse to come to shore.

A single scar mars the otherwise smooth horizon of Yara’s back. It is shaped like a blade- not the remnants of one, thrust deep into skin that merely seems unyielding- but a blade proper, curved upward like the Dothraki's Arakh.

Yara almost sighs when Dany traces it with one fingernail. Almost.

Dany had taken her with the ferocity of any blood rider, but Yara had simply arched higher against her, unbowed, unashamed. Sweat pooled along every rise and plain, head dipped to expose her neck only when Dany shoved inside hard enough to rattle bone. And Dany wanted to bite just there, at the otherwise fragile place where spine meets skull. So she had. The marks are deep, purple red, bruise and blood. But they will not scar.

(Dany used to allow Daario to ride her that way, although he’d never once dared to use teeth. He’d called her insatiable, worn a proud, lascivious grin. But insatiable means a thirst unquenched, and with Daario that had finally come to be true. By the end, all she’d felt was boredom and a faint sense of what she understands now to be pity. There is no word for pity in Dothraki. No word for mercy. There are at least a half dozen words for fucking.)

Now Dany presses her thumb against the wound she’s made, and is rewarded with a sweet gasp of pleasure. Yara rolls like liquid in her lap, baring belly and breasts as she does so. The gesture is purposeful if not quite submissive.

_She’s not demanding, she’s asking_

Yara’s gaze is just as forthright as it had been when Dany first looked upon her. It had taken less than a moment to understand that the brother was a beast of great burden, made brittle and weak by use. His gaze had been empty of all but subservience and a single, sharp sliver of fear. But Yara-

“What do men fuck like?” Yara says now.

Two of her teeth are crooked, the smallest of imperfections noticeable only at an intimate distance. It occurs to Dany suddenly that perhaps Yara has never had to fuck a man. The expanse of her lightly muscled body does not remind Dany of deserts, endless blinding landscapes filled with the cries of war and women. 

_I would let his whole tribe fuck you - all forty thousand men - and their horses too_

Yara was born to Iron, and the sacrifices she will need to make in order to rule her islands seem petty from such a distance.

Tomorrow Dany will set sail with the stink of horses and men. She will stand at the head of her ship and conquer a sea the Dothraki did not believe even existed until she'd taught them otherwise. She will bring the West to its knees with the fire of her dragons and the taste of blood in her mouth. 

Now, she is tired. And more than a little afraid.

Yara turns again to press her breasts where Dany is still warm and wet (nearly sated, and that has not been since Drago; she swallows the sudden shard of sadness, of longing lanced by flame but never quite healed.) She begins to press kisses against Dany's belly. 

"They take what they wish and believe they deserve it," Dany says, pushing Yara's head down down down.

She can feel Yara's smile against the soft skin of her thighs. "Perhaps what you mean then is not actually like a man, but like royalty."

Dany's laugh surprises her; bright and sharp, lightning in an otherwise empty sky. "Perhaps."

"My Queen," Yara says, still smiling. And bows her head.


End file.
